


Save me, Save me

by SweetSorcery



Category: The Singer not the Song
Genre: 1950s, Angst, Bandit, Catholic, Drama, Introspection, M/M, Male Slash, Mexico, Missing Scene, Priest, Rare Pairing, Religion, Romance, Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-09
Updated: 2009-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Father Keogh was thinking of Paradise Lost. He found himself thinking of Lucifer, the bright and brilliant angel whose company even God had missed.</i><br/>(excerpt: "The Singer not the Song" by Audrey Erskine Lindop, Chapter 13, Page 100)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save me, Save me

"There was no one to weep save me, save me. Out in the wind on the mountain..."

Anacleto silently cursed Old Uncle for his sentimental tune. He swallowed back the dryness in his throat and the moisture behind his eyelids. While the priest still stood in the doorway, he could not afford such weaknesses.

Why was the man indecisive about leaving, Anacleto wondered, unnerved. Why did he have such trouble tearing himself away, when he had entered the lion's den with no sign of trepidation - something which made him either the bravest or most foolish man Anacleto knew. Certainly, he was the most unsettling, for he had appeared just when Anacleto had felt at his very lowest.

There were times when, surrounded by his friends, Anacleto felt like the only man on Earth. He generally made an effort not to think about loneliness; there was no point in dwelling on that which cannot be changed. He had never respected anyone enough to share his loneliness, and he had certainly never met anyone whose love would dispel it.

His friends' laughter rang hollow in the bar, and Anacleto was only vaguely aware that Vito was scowling at him and the priest by turns, and that Old Uncle looked worriedly in his direction, even as he sang his foolish song. Anacleto noticed these things in the corner of his vision; the way one notices animals grazing at the side of the road as one is speeding towards a destination.

All he could see was that brave, stubborn man lingering in the doorway, looking back at him sadly. That man was as lonely as he was. He had all but admitted it to him just now, though Anacleto had known it already. How could he not be? There was no one remotely like Father Keogh. No one except Anacleto himself.

Why had the man come here tonight of all nights, drawing comparisons between the two of them in that soft voice, as if Anacleto's own mind was not already playing tricks on him?

Anacleto had moved a few steps towards the priest before he realised it, and stopped suddenly. The priest flinched a little, and Anacleto did not know whether this was because he had begun to close the distance, or because he had stopped.

Lately, he caught himself drifting in the man's direction more and more frequently, and he did not know how many more times he would be able to stop. He wondered what the priest would do if, one day, he kept walking until the distance between them had shrunk down to nothing. Would he recoil if Anacleto raised his hand and took his chin? Would his blue eyes widen, and his lips part on a gasp, if Anacleto leaned in, with his head tilted and his eyes dropping to the priest's mouth a moment before...

Anacleto swallowed hard. Still, the priest stood there, looking at him as if he was trying to strip him down to his very soul. Was he so foolishly confident in his faith that he thought he could tempt the devil forever?

One hesitant step. This time, it was not Anacleto who moved. But Anacleto, with a curse, stalked across the room until he stood before the priest, closer than ever before. He was only vaguely aware silence had descended over the room as if someone had flicked a switch.

The blue eyes blinked, startled and painfully earnest.

Anacleto sucked in a breath to stop himself from speaking before he could think, and clenched his hands into fists to stop himself reaching out. When he spoke, it was slow and deliberate, and his voice was husky. "You should leave, Father. You are not safe here."

The priest glanced around briefly, taking in the bar and Anacleto's scowling friends. "I... see."

"No." Anacleto smiled sardonically. "You don't."

The priest's gaze swung back to him. "Oh?" He looked deep into Anacleto's eyes, had the audacity to smile. "Perhaps you might explain then?"

"Perhaps I will simply demonstrate." Anacleto had meant it to sound like a threat, but instead, the words had come out teasing, and he was horrified by his lack of control. He was well aware that the words and their assumed meaning did not match the tone of their delivery, and he was unsurprised that the priest looked thoroughly bewildered. He sighed. "Go home, Father."

Nodding slowly, the priest turned and made to leave, but just before he rounded the corner of the doorway, he glanced back over his shoulder with a look that made the bandit wonder whether his mask had, after all, slipped enough for this innocent to see him.

He did not know whether the thought should thrill or terrify him but, when he returned to his table, oblivious to his friends' disappointment at the lack of bloodshed, he did not feel so alone.

THE END


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